


And I Painted Him Red

by TheatricallyColorful



Series: Starlight. [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Red - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatricallyColorful/pseuds/TheatricallyColorful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki ponders, and his mind flies into galaxies, a dazzling cornucopia of stars and faces, of people he met, who he wronged, and in turn, wronged him. And yet, he will never forget the streak of red in the sky that he called his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Painted Him Red

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the prequel to Don't Remember Me, I Beg.

Loki hates himself in this very moment, heart palpitating, breath wheezing and body trembling as he's so  _undignified,_ so human.

He shouldn't be this way, he thinks. But there is no where else he can run as his vision dims, and colors clash and melt.

It's like watching a movie, he smirks to himself. With the ever-faithful, and somehow, foolish narrator, and the turn of events no one really experiences. Only him, though.

Except this time, he's telling the story. He's dimming the lights, and settling down. And even if his voice catches, even though he stumbles over the words no one but him will hear, he has to try.

"My red streak in the sky," he begins fondly.

His story doesn't begin with ' _once upon a time.'_ It begins with the opening of his eyes, and the wondering, awed sigh that escapes his lips. 

_There's a red streak in the sky,_ he wants to point out. But Mother would only indulge him, and Father would ignore him. And Thor, faithful, guileless Thor would seek it out.

It's his red streak in the sky.

And Loki never fails to marvel at the fact that his red streak appears when he feels that aching, empty feeling in his gut. Like a beacon of comfort painted in the skies.

"Years later, decades, scores and centuries later, only to find it was him," Loki muses.

He's beautiful, he thinks dimly through a curtain of rage, as Thanos controls him skillfully, deftly, like a puppet master.

Loki wants him. After he dissolves this spell binding him to Thanos. 

It's strange seeing his red streak laid out across Midgard's dreamy blue skies. Infused with gold and the tiniest sliver of shining metal.

As he watches in helpless anger, his body moves along to the jerking of the strings, destroying the Midgardian town, scattering the humans, aided by the Chitauri.

He tries to fight, of course. It's absolutely horrible not to be in possession of your own body. But all his attempts end up as nothing. Barely a twitch in the well-oiled machination that used to be him.

He is drained, exhausted. The truth of his heritage and the long, shuddering fall has stripped him bare.

But his breath stops, not because his-  _Thor's_ friends has finally stopped him, but because there it is again, the red streak, darting up vertically with a burden of silver (is that silver? He can't determine) into the blackness. His mouth falls open.

_Stupid!_ he wants to scream. And it's painfully silent for an eternity (he would know, he's lived that long) as his heart beats sluggishly.

The breath he releases is exquisite, almost as relieving as the sight of his beloved red streak in the sky, tumbling brokenly to the ground. And Tony Stark's companions flutter over to his side helplessly as he weakly makes a joke, and Loki's relief is even more unspeakably beautiful.

He doesn't know why he's feeling this way. But it doesn't matter for now. His beloved red streak in the sky has pulled him once more out of the dark abyss.

"The Allfather has refused to pass judgement," Thor tells him. He ignores it. What does it matter to him? He is no more Asgardian than Tony Stark is. "You will serve your sentence here," Thor continues, droning mindlessly. His eyes flit to the pale blue sky. A dull expanse of blue, with the occasional puff of white.

What a strange world, he muses. He ignores Thor's angry exit from his cell. He's only biding his time. He feels his magic recollect piece by piece, gradually building up strength. He will break free, he vows. And he will seek out a sky where his red streak belongs.

It's several more weeks before he attempts anything big. He exults smugly in the fact he can transport himself out of his Midgardian cell, no frills.

Although it's quite his misfortune to stumble upon Tony Stark again, his magic gone, as well as his memory.

And it's beautiful, he concludes. Right until he wakes up out of his foggy, amnesiac stupor. And it pains him, the betrayal in Tony's eyes, those warm eyes that he used to fantasize held love and devotion.

"I was so foolish," he sighs harshly. "I could have thought it over first."

But he isn't the type of person to deny himself what is rightfully his. The Avengers might scorn him, and his so-called brother might desert him, but he would never allow Stark to leave his side. Tony was his, from the very first moment he saw the red streak in the sky.

So he fights relentlessly. And even if it annoys him to act nice, especially to that smug, controlling bastard called Fury, he would submit to everything and more, if only to have his Tony again.

It is painful and hard, he reflects. Living without Tony Stark for an extended period of time after all they've been through is harder than he would've ever anticipated.

Their reunion is short and bittersweet.

Loki hates Amora with a passion. Not only has she deigned to make his life a living hell, she's also attempted to suck Thor's soul out. But what catches his attention, after months of silence and pained resignation, is a welcome red streak in the sky. He tilts his head up, eyes following the noble curve of color in the sky, landing in front of him with a thud.

And he grins at Loki, which should not make his heart skip a beat or two, but it does.

"Hey Lokes," his faceplate lifted up, and his back turned to Amora, who never liked it when she was ignored.

"I heard you needed help and I-" Loki opens his mouth too late, spreads his fingers apart and lets the magic pull out haphazardly out of his palm, still too late as the blinding, sickly sweet curl of orange smoke envelops Tony and he goes down quietly.

Loki stops breathing.

Loki stops thinking.

Suddenly the world is red. Not Tony's red, but blinding and vicious, angry and biting.

He doesn't notice Amora half-dead by his spell which continues to wreak havoc on the bitch's body.

He falls down to his knees, expertly unlocking the armor in all the right places, clawing hisway through the metal, gasping, trembling, because  _Tony isn't breathing._

The scream that comes out of his mouth is undignified, human. 

But Loki does not give one shit as his mind races with what could've possibly hit his lover.

His breath hitches and his eyes water ( _nononononononononono_ ) as he realizes what it is. A memory-erasing spell.


End file.
